


the feeling remains but the memory is unclear

by Spencer_Grey



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Clarke didn't leave after Mount Weather, Enemies to Lovers, Kinda, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Murphamy - Freeform, Murphy needs a hug, Oblivious John Murphy, Pining Bellamy Blake, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Season/Series 03, Slow Burn, because I said so, but not that slow, grounder murphy, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2020-12-16 19:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21041582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer_Grey/pseuds/Spencer_Grey
Summary: There’s a boy, arrogant and flawed and scarred.Bellamy realises the night of the banishing how much he cares for this boy but by then, it was already too late. Until the boy - Murphy - returns, still arrogant and flawed and scarred. And different. Murphy is a grounder now - Bellamy will do anything to figure out what happened to this kid and how to get the real Murphy back.





	1. isolation is not safety

There’s a boy, arrogant and flawed and scarred. His ocean eyes spark with joy for the first time in years when the sun graces his marked skin - trees and grass and fresh air the most beautiful things. The boy is hateful, his very breath bitter as he spits at authority- and yet he follows Bellamy without hesitation. It’s natural, as natural as the new world, the pull he feels, like this is how it was always meant to be. Them against the world, against fate, against an angry mob - 

The boy is abandoned there, left to choke and sputter on his own wrath. Bellamy stands back, tall and commanding - the leader of this feral pack of teenagers. He says nothing. 

A red seat belt snakes its way around his throat. The noose tightens and his feet border the edge of the crate beneath him. The boy begs, he cries - this is not his fault, he is innocent. He can’t hear anything over his pounding heart and he hasn’t admitted this - not since he was young, being held by both his parents - but he is scared. 

As quickly as his world stopped spinning, the crate is gone and Bellamy still watches... 

The boy can’t breathe. It hurts, everything hurts so bad and he’s still begging. His soft hands claw at the noose, legs kicking out wildly like an animal stuck in a trap. 

The crowd roars, cheering as his death nears. (How is he the monster?) It’s long and it’s cruel - he is innocent - but the tightness in his chest starts to outweigh the tightness around his neck. 

The last thing the boy sees is Bellamy, hazy and blurry, but perfect, always beautiful. 

The boy doesn’t die that day, no matter how close he came, no matter how much they wanted him to. But he knows some piece of him is gone now, it was hanged and died. Something that won’t come back. 

He isn’t a boy anymore - he is an animal and he seeks his prey. 

-

It’s cold outside, night had fallen hours ago and despite the exhaustion eating away at him, Bellamy lays awake. Nothing is softening the ground and only his arm serves as a pillow. 

Bellamy watches the stars, bright, twinkling lights that always seemed more breathtaking on the ground than on the Ark. 

He lays there for hours, head too blurry to move and he wonders if he’s had too much of Monty and Jasper’s moonshine. He laughs. _There’s no such thing_, a voice supplies and it sounds suspiciously like those two trying to goad him into more booze. 

He doesn’t remember why he chose this instead of his warm, comfortable bed, but whatever reason his drunken mind had given seemed like a good idea at the time. 

The night gives him time to breathe - for what might be the first time to process what his life had become. Everything at Mount Weather still lurks in the back of his mind, stalking, waiting to strike. 

He remembers how much more simplistic life had been back when they first landed, all his plans for his group of criminal teenagers were bright. A civilisation - better than the one that had cast them all out. 

The sparkling stars above suddenly twist and for a heartbeat, ocean eyes blink down at him. There’s a weight in his hand, wrapping around and up his arm - the red seatbelt. 

Definitely had too much moonshine. He pushes those thoughts back, locking them up in a cage he won’t - _can’t_ \- look at. 

He thinks about going inside, the party might still be raging and he can drown these demons a little more. But his body is too heavy, too flimsy - stuck under the force of memories - to move.

When Bellamy does sit up, the sun’s rising and his head is underwater, pounding against the pressure. 

The early risers from Arkadia start piling out, ignoring the hungover man and going about their business. Bellamy waits - letting the sunrise just a little - before he picks himself up and trudges for the dining area. 

He’s met with a few of the other delinquents, their hazy eyes and dark circles reflecting his own. Still, they give him a curt nod as they pass in the hallways, a knowing smile on their lips. They shared a silent promise to never speak of the distillery hidden in Monty and Jasper’s shared room. 

Once he reaches the large dining area, Bell has never been more grateful that the council decided coffee beans were on the priority list of crops - rather than a luxury. 

He downs a mug in record time, letting the burning heat wake him up before trying to force down some food. His nauseous stomach complains the whole time, but it’s better than going to work with nothing. 

“Have too much to drink last night, Blake?” Raven sits down next to him, nursing her own cup of coffee. 

While she had far less to drink than Bell, she’s tired and hungover, and he’s tempted to push back but decides against it. He can’t be bothered. 

“I’ll have you know I can still drink like I’m twenty.” 

“As if.” 

They sit in comfortable silence, finishing the last of their breakfasts. One of the few solar-powered clocks hangs in the cafeteria and as it reads _six-thirty_, Bell sighs deeply. 

Pushing himself from his seat, Bellamy mentally prepares himself for a day of work sleep-deprived and hungover. 

“Might want to hit the showers first, Blake. You reek.” 

“Love you too, Raven,” he replies with a smile, patting her on the shoulder as he leaves. 

Since she mentioned, Bellamy becomes acutely aware of the smell of alcohol and dirt rippling from him and decides having a shower is worth being late to his shift. His room seems to get further away as he nears, his tired limbs grow heavier and Bellamy remembers how much he hates all-nighters. Hates feeling so gross. 

The bathroom to his quarters sent a chill down his spine, the white walls bright and cool. He sets the temperature to as cold as it will go and let the water wash over his body, taking all the dry feelings left over from his night of drinking. 

Drying off and dressing in fresh clothes, Bellamy readies himself for the day. And as his foot enters into the hallway, he regrets it immediately. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke calls. 

He turns instinctively before he really processes it’s her, finding her eyebrows furrowed and a frown on her lips. Her hand lands on his arm as she joined his side. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a list already forming in his mind of all the possible problems. There’s too many to count, too many good things that can be ruined. 

Clarke licks her lips before answering. “They need you. They, um - ” she lowers her voice - “they found a grounder spy. They want you for the interrogation.” 

Bellamy lets her lead him away, leaning down to whisper in her ear as they walk. “What kind of interrogation?” 

Clarke shrugs. 

They end up in the furthest part of Arkadia, past any housing areas or publicly accessible rooms. Clarke stops outside a closed room that needs Bellamy’s keycard to open. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy starts. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. But tell me when you find out.” 

Clarke leaves him at the door, marching back the way they came and Bell takes a deep breath before entering. 

The room is more storage than anything else, a small open window lets in more light than the two swinging bulbs. A large set of shelves blocks most of his view but Bellamy can see a few figures standing at the furthest end of the room. 

He walks slowly, cautious and wary of the situation. When he turns around the shelf, Bellamy is met with the back of three other men and the captain of the Guard, Ramsey. 

Ramsey notices him first. “Blake, glad you could make it.” 

“What is this?”

“Caught him spying on us. I just want to ask a few questions.” Ramsey nods to the other guards and they step back. 

Bellamy freezes, his breath lodged in his chest - hollowing the space behind his ribs. The weight is in his hand again, heavier than before, tightening. If it weren’t for every set of eyes being trained on him, Bell would’ve collapsed to his knees right there. 

Red flashes over his eyes as he stares down at John Murphy. 

Murphy looks at Bellamy, hands tied behind his back and a blank expression, bored even. 

“Blake?” The captain says, thought Bell barely registers it, his head swarming with a million overlapping thoughts. “Blake?”

Bellamy scoffs in disbelief, his focus stuck on Murphy. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course you’d make it.”

“You know him?” a guard asks. “A grounder spy?” 

“He’s no grounder. John Murphy, one of the hundred. Should’ve known he wouldn’t die out there.” 

Murphy regards Bell with curiosity, a tease of a smirk on his lips. 

He looks almost the same, hints of the same unruly kid in his face. Though his hair is shorter - it makes him look older, sharper. Bellamy traces the painfully familiar curve of his nose with his eyes, he never forgot it. Murphy’s once thin limbs are now muscled and toned. 

It’s when Bell notices the scar running of his left eye - like three claw marks - does he feel a sharp pang of guilt. That’s your fault, a voice provides, one he tried desperately to repress. 

“Release him,” Bellamy demands. “He’s not a threat.” 

Ramsey looks at him, narrowing his eyes at the younger man and Bell finds himself sharing a glance with Murphy - like it was old times. 

“He’s dressed as a grounder and was spying on us,” the captain explains.

Bellamy could’ve laughed at the idea - remembering how the kid couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes, let alone be a spy. “Okay, well, let me talk to him. He doesn’t trust you.” 

“How do you know the grounder so well?” one of the guards ask, hand instinctively coming to rest on his gun. 

“I told you - ” Bell moves to stand beside Murphy, a hand coming to sit on his shoulder - “he was one of the original hundred sent down. Remember? All those kids you wanted to get rid of by sending to a potentially radiated planet.” 

Ramsey rolls his eyes, shifting his weight. He matches Bellamy’s stare but ultimately stands down, understanding this was not something he could win.

“Fine. Five minutes.” 

The captain and the guards pile from the room and Bellamy chuckles, leaning against Murphy. 

“Man, sorry about them. I’m amazed you’ve kept quiet all this time, I know much you hated the guards on the Ark.” As he spoke, Bellamy leaned down to untie Murphy’s wrists. 

The rope drops and Murphy rubs at his red, scratched skin. He watches Bell as he comes around to crouch in front of him - there’s a strange glint to his eyes, one Bellamy doesn’t recognise. 

“So,” Bell starts, “wanna tell what this dress up is for?” 

Murphy’s fist collides with his face and Bellamy doesn’t have time to react before he’s gone. 

Murphy stumbles on his feet for a moment, but he’s out the door before Bell can register it. Bellamy swears, spitting out blood - the damn kid’s strong - and races after him. 

He whips around the corner, finding Murphy dropping a guard to the ground in a choke-hold - another man already unconscious. It must’ve been quick, silent - if Ramsey had only just left. 

“Murphy?” Bell breaths. 

Murphy stops, meeting Bellamy’s gaze with wild eyes and he moves so quickly Bell barely sees it. He takes a gun from the guard's hand, twisting around to point it at Bell. 

He puts his hands up on reflex. “Murphy, come on man.” 

Murphy runs, following the winding hallways, his feet barely touching the ground as he flies. Bellamy’s chasing after him, first checking that the guards are alive before throwing himself forward. 

He whirls around a corner, and Murphy’s stuck at a door. 

“Murphy,” Bell repeats, stronger but still confused. 

Murphy looks at him - determining his threat level, Bell realises - and ducks for the unconscious guard lying close to his feet. Murphy’s hand is steady as he rips off the guard's keycard. 

Bellamy doesn’t know why he doesn’t fire, his gun had found its way to his hands, but he only stands there, watching. 

There’s a high pitched ding and the door opens. Murphy’s gone without another look back. 

As Bellamy runs after him, again, he quickly realises that this is no longer the bitter kid with a short temper - he’s not the scared kid that ran into the forest after being banished. 

God, it feels like it was centuries ago that Murphy had been cast out. Bellamy’s disgusted with himself that he barely gave a passing thought to whether Murphy would survive - it was only a matter of how long to him. 

“Murphy, please,” he calls. Bellamy never saw how quick Murphy was, the younger boy racing so far ahead that Bell could barely hear his pounding footsteps. 

He’s scared - Bellamy understands that. Murphy’s always been on edge, ready to fight, to run. But if he just _stopped_, Bell could help him, all he wants is to help him. 

Bellamy realises he’s almost outside, the scatter of guard bodies was growing more and more frequent. He can hear yelling, more guards he assumes chasing after Murphy and it only pushes him further - he has to be the one to reach him. 

Bellamy throws himself in front of some incoming guards as the entrance of Arkadia nears. 

The grass crunches beneath him. The sun blinds him momentarily but he follows this pull in his chest. It guides him and when he adjusts to the light, Murphy is so close. He’s making a break for the large gates that surround Arkadia.

There are guards from all sides running for Murphy - a dark figure coming from the side. Bellamy doesn’t recognise them until he’s close enough to see; Lincoln’s tackling Murphy to the ground. 

Lincoln sits on the smaller man’s back, keeping his hands behind his back and he looks around for help. Bellamy reaches them first, skidding to his knees next to Murphy. He doesn’t try to fight Lincoln, accepting that he won’t win. 

“Murphy, it’s okay,” he says, “relax.”

Murphy mutters something that is distinctly Trigedasleng, the words natural on his tongue and Bellamy is taken aback by that. Lincoln says something back, pushing Murphy deeper into the dirt. 

The guards reach them before Bellamy can say anything else, they rip Lincoln from Murphy’s back and pull him from the ground. His hands are instantly cuffed behind his back, and he’s shoved forward with a stun baton - the small buzz of electricity sickening Bell.

He can only watch on as Murphy is dragged away, surrounded by a dozen guards. 

Bellamy turns to Lincoln. “What did he say?” he demands. 

“Skaikru will burn.”

-

Bellamy isn’t allowed in the interrogation, so he stands outside the door and waits - rather impatiently. 

Word spreads quickly of John Murphy’s return, and Clarke comes to wait with Bell - telling him of the buzz circulating with the delinquents. 

“People don’t believe it,” she says. “It’s like he came back from the dead.” There’s a faint smile on her lips, and Bellamy can’t figure out why he hates it so much. 

“He _was_ dead. We thought we were killing him by banishing,” Bell answers, forcing himself to meet her offended gaze. “Come on, Clarke. Did you really think he’d make it this far?” 

“No, but - ”

Bellamy shrugs off her answer. There’s a heartbeat of tense silence before Clarke speaks again. 

“Maybe you should go out there, talk to them. They still listen to you.” 

Bell glances at the door he’s been standing in front of for almost an hour - it’s been silent inside the whole time and he doubts they’ll finish any time soon. 

Wordlessly, he agrees to her idea, walking down the hallway- expecting Clarke to be behind him. She is and mutters something under his breath. 

It’s lunchtime in Arkadia and most of the delinquents are sitting towards the back, huddled around a few tables. Bellamy heads there. Before he can make a sound or say anything, his presence seems to be enough to gain their attention.

“What’s happening with Murphy?” Miller asks, dropping his fork onto his tray. 

All eyes are on Bell, kids are climbing over each other to hear him - desperate for information. He knows that everyone had practically forgotten about Murphy, the banishing, even Charlotte. But now, with his sudden return, it’s all any of them will be able to think about. 

“They’re asking him some questions,” Bell answers. 

“About?” Bryan leans over his boyfriend to talk. 

“Why was he dressed like a grounder?” a girl - Rosa, Bellamy thinks - asks. “Why did he run?” 

“Is he a traitor?” someone else says. 

“I don’t blame him. We left him to die.” 

“Only because he killed Charlotte.” 

“We did try to kill him.” 

Bellamy raises one hand and the chatter dies down, it’s a power he both relishes in and despises. The delinquents regard him with curious, open eyes - and for a moment, he’s reminded how young they all, how young Murphy is. 

“Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on with him,” Bell admits, taking a deep breath before continuing. “But, when I do, I’ll let you all know.” 

A murmur passes through the group, unsatisfied with the information. Though, they all settle back into their meals without another word. 

“Don’t think that helped much,” Bellamy whispers to Clarke as they take their leave. 

“I don’t know, at least now they've calmed a bit. 

Bell grunts in response, ignoring the slight pang of hunger that goes through him when he passes the lunch line. He thinks about stopping to grab something to eat but remembers about Murphy - that he needs to be there. 

Clarke leaves him sometime down the hallway, her excuse is already forgotten. Bellamy can’t find the energy to really care about her disappearance - the emptiness next to him was more comforting than she’d ever been.

Bell didn’t really want to admit it, but he was glad. He hadn’t thought about this before but now with Murphy’s return, Bellamy realised how much he blamed her for it all. It had been Clarke to suggest banishment, to force Bell to cast his right-hand man away. Bellamy knew then that if he allowed Murphy to return to camp, she would start an uprising - Clarke with her stubborn ass and way around words would convince the delinquents to revolt. 

So Bellamy did it. He banished Murphy, seemingly uncaring and had to pretend like he didn’t want to cry at the sharp betrayal in those ocean eyes. 

Bell reaches the interrogation room again and stands guard. He starts to regret ignoring lunch after the third hour, his legs growing tired and sore. But still, he stands. It’s the least he could do for Murphy after everything. 

It’s past his shift when the door finally opens. Ramsey walks out, their eyes locking in less than a heartbeat. The captain sighs. 

“You’re not getting in there, Blake,” he says. 

Bellamy stands taller. “Sir, I can talk to him. He’ll trust me.” A lie - he just wanted to see the boy he condemned again. “He’ll tell me anything.”

“No. And if I hear that you’re anywhere near this room again, you’re on farm duty.” 

Truthfully, that’s almost enough to dissuade Bell - farm duty was the most boring shift in the whole of Arkadia. Bellamy nods his head, turning on his heel. 

It’s _almost_ enough. 

The path to Raven’s workshop is muscle memory to him now. He walks as swiftly yet casually as he can, his formulating plan pounding him with excitement. 

“Raven?” he calls as he enters. 

He finds her hunched over her wielding table, mask down and blow torch alight. He repeats himself when she doesn’t respond. 

“I’m not helping you break your boyfriend out of jail,” Raven says simply. 

He shoots her a puzzled look. 

“Clarke stopped in to say hello,” she answers with a shrug. “If they’ve got him locked up, it must be for a good reason.”

“The Ark locked people up for being born,” he shoots back. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Taking her mask off, she rolls her eyes before continuing about her business. Raven pays Bell no mind, moving past him to collect pieces for whatever machine she was working on. 

“Who is he, anyway? Must have been important for you to care so much.” Raven doesn’t look at him as she speaks - an action he’s thankful for as it let’s all his emotions come to the brim of his eyes. 

Bellamy hesitates on his answer. “An asshole, really. But he was a good kid, deep down, I’m sure. I didn’t get to know him much - but I wanted to.” 

“You want more time so you’re trying to get it now,” Raven says, simplifying what he was trying to express. 

“Yeah, I just - I feel so guilty about banishing him. He was just a kid and I knew all he wanted was to please me. But still, I just threw him aside like he meant nothing to me.” 

Raven hums - not a response but enough to keep him going. 

Bell continues, “Murphy didn’t really do anything wrong if I’m honest. He was falsely accused and he didn’t - he reacted just how I would’ve back then.”

There’s an unknown sorrow in his voice, his sword edge blunted to make him sound… younger - free of that pain that gave him his commanding, booming voice. Like the mere mention of Murphy could soften him beyond belief. 

“I missed him,” Bell admits quietly. 

“You sound like you’re talking about an ex.” Raven’s hand never falter as she works, eyes focused before her. There’s a smile on her lips, the instinct to tease him too strong. 

“We never dated.”

“Did you want to?” she asks, her tone weirdly gentle. 

Silence. Then a small, “Yeah.”

“Do you still?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” Raven drops the metal in her hands, finally looking at Bell - eyes firm and determined. “Then let’s go break your boyfriend out.”


	2. products of war

Bellamy’s eyes scan back and forth, Raven’s presence by his side is a comforting weight as a small buzz creeps into his chest. He was starting to miss this - the sneaking around, the last minute plans. It’s reminiscent of the life he’d grown accustomed to, before all of the Ark came down. 

Arkadia is almost  _ too  _ safe - too much routine, too organised. Bellamy thrives in chaos, in survival being a miracle not expected. There are little threats now - with the grounders mostly leaving them alone. It’s boring, Bellamy realises. The most eventful thing that happened this whole time was a small scuffle between two girls in the kitchen. Breaking it up was the highlight of his week. 

“I hope you’ve got a plan,” Raven whispers as they peek around a corner - the guard in front of Murphy’s door keeps a sharp eye out. 

Bellamy glances behind them. “Here he is,” he says with a smile. He had ran off from Raven’s workshop for a total of three minutes before coming back - his botched idea coming together despite the disorder. 

Miller looks annoyed as he walks, barely looking at the pair while he passes them. Bellamy gives him a quick pat on the shoulder nonetheless. He and Raven stay pressed against the wall, watching Miller meet the guard. 

Their lips move but Bellamy can’t make out what they’re saying - Miller’s back is facing them. He only knows it worked when the guard takes his leave. 

Bellamy and Raven duck around the corner, though the guard walks away in the opposite direction. Miller gestures for them to come, head flickering back and forth to watch down both ends of the hallway.

“I don’t have a keycard cause I’m not actually authorised to be here so -,” Miller trails off. 

“That’s why I’m here,” Raven says smugly. 

“Bellamy, before you go in - ”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he interrupts. “You won’t get in trouble for this, I’ll make sure.” 

“No, I - ”

“Raven, get started.” 

“ _ Listen  _ \- ” Miller shoves Bellamy back, raising his voice - “there’s - he - Murphy’s not right. He attacked a guard - fucking  _ bit _ him.” 

“What?” Raven takes a step back from the door, hands dropping to her sides. 

His heart drops. “Well, they - they would’ve provoked him. He’s - he’s scared,” Bellamy stumbles. It sounds weak, even to him but it’s all he has - the only defense he can think of. 

Miller shakes his head. “No, no, it sounds like he tried killing them.”

“Bellamy, maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Raven says. 

“No, no, no - this isn’t, that’s not right.” He shakes his head. “We don’t know the full story. I - I  _ need _ to talk to him.”

Raven and Miller share a look, eyes filled with caution - of Murphy or for Bellamy. A silent conversation pass between them and he can’t tell who won but Raven glances at him before moving for the lock. 

Miller and Bellamy stand watch, covering Raven as she works.  It’s barely a minute later before a  _ ding _ sounds and the door slides open. 

“Nice work,” Bellamy says. 

He hesitates, eyeing the room cautiously. His heart starts pounding in his chest, nerves taking over - a sudden rush of anxiety crashing over him.  _ It’s just Murphy _ , he tells himself. The same Murphy he knew - maybe he looks a little different but it’s still him. 

“Go,” Raven says, pushing him forward. “Reconcile with your feral boyfriend.” 

Bellamy flips her off as he enters slowly. He gives her and Miller a quick glance before he shuffles around the shelves. 

He barely conceals his sharp inhale as he sees Murphy - gagged and tied. Bellamy can see him tense, fingers digging into the chair arms. 

Bellamy approaches him like he would a wounded animal - keeping his movements slow and clear as he reaches for the gag. He pulls it out - he swears he sees a faint stain of blood on his lips.

He decides to sit crossed legged before Murphy, hands resting clearly on his knees. His attention is naturally pulled to that scar again - an animal attack, it had to be. 

Bellamy doesn’t let himself think about that, about Murphy being alone deep within the forest - confused, afraid, defenceless as he’s attacked by some unknown creature. How he survived is baffling. 

So instead, Bellamy keeps his expression as uninterested as Murphy’s. 

“Always gotta be difficult, don’t you?” he teases, waiting - hoping - for a jab back, something to make this feel natural. 

When Murphy doesn’t answer, Bellamy sighs - already failing at this bored facade. 

“Murphy, let me help you.”

“How do you know my name?” Murphy asks, taking Bellamy by surprise. His voice rough, deeper than it had been - Bellamy shoves away the voice that says why do you remember?

Bellamy blinks - once, twice - as his brain struggles to process that. “Wha - what do you mean? I know you, Murphy.”

Murphy regards him with empty eyes - an ocean that has frozen still, cold under a layer of ice. They send a chill down Bellamy’s spine, making him squirm under the firm gaze. He forces himself to breathe - to not let himself freeze. If he needs to be the fire to thaw them both free, then so be it. He’ll burn - a tall, bright flame to light their way home. If only to quell the raging guilt in his chest. 

“Murphy, I know what I did is unforgivable,” Bellamy says. “But please, let me try to make it up to you.”

Silence.

“Say something, please.” 

Murphy stays as still as a statue in the chair, never flinching at Bellamy’s desperation. There’s something eerie in the way he holds himself, stiff like an animal laying rigid before they pounce - fists clenched, feet poised to jump. 

“How do you know my name?” Murphy repeats. “Who told you?” 

“You did,” Bellamy answers, panic building at Murphy’s sincerity- does he really not know? Or is this just a game to him? Payback. “Do - do you know me?” 

Murphy shakes his head. 

“Bullshit.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Bellamy scoffs. “I get that you’re angry for what I did but come on, this isn’t funny. I’m trying to help you.”

“Is that so?” Murphy croons, the corners of his mouth twitching up. 

“They think you’re a grounder spy. Just tell me what you were doing and they won’t hurt you.” Bellamy wrings his hand through his hair, tugging at his curls. 

Murphy tilts his head slightly, curiosity beaming in his eyes - making him look almost childlike. “What makes a Skaikru like you care?” he asks. 

Bellamy taps his finger against his thigh, not so subtly glancing at the door. They couldn’t have much time left - there’s never enough time. 

“You’re Skaikru, you know that right? You’re my people and I protect my people.”

Murphy opens his mouth as if he wants to speak but closes it when he thinks better. And for a moment - a small, hopeful moment - Bellamy swears he can see that layer of cold frost melt and he sees Murphy - the real Murphy. But he’s gone quicker than he comes and the frozen stare returns. 

“I want to help you,” Bellamy says. “I can get you out of here. Or you can stay a prisoner. Your choice.” 

Murphy blinks - then a slight nod, a small act of trust that sends Bellamy’s heart racing. 

He stops himself from smiling, from revealing just how excited he is. Bellamy stands, making quick work of his restraints and offering his hand down to Murphy. There’s a moment of hesitation from the boy as he eyes the gesture cautiously, waiting for a trap, a trick. But Bellamy never wavers, keeping his gaze steady. 

When Murphy takes his hand, Bellamy almost swoons - electricity sapping between their fingertips and his toes curl. Murphy’s skin is warm like there’s an unknown storm brewing - it’s air before a lightning strike. And Bellamy’s prepared to get hit. 

As soon as Bellamy’s drawn Murphy up, their hands separate - the distance painfully far but Bellamy doesn’t risk closing it, unsure where this desperation, this need to be near him came from. For a tense moment, as their eyes met, they merely watched each other - waiting for the other to strike and yet, wishing that they wouldn’t. 

“Well?” Murphy asks, breaking the moment. “Let’s go.”

Bellamy settles his urge to grab Murphy's hand again by taking hold of his shoulder, guiding him to the front as they leave the room. 

Raven and Miller are waiting for them, dropping their hushed conversation to stare at Murphy as they come out. Miller looks as though he’s seen a ghost, which he really has - mouth hanging open with a sharp breath escaping his lips. Raven simply eyes the boy, judging him. 

“You’ve got like, five minutes until Ramsey finds out I’m here,” Miller says once he’s done staring, dragging his gaze onto Bellamy. 

Bellamy nods, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it to Murphy - who caught it with ease. “Put the hood up. Head down and walk fast.”

Bellamy’s breathing hitches seeing Murphy in his hoodie - wrapped in his clothing - and there’s a painful memory of having wanted this, of always wanting this. 

“What?” Murphy snaps - breaking Bellamy from his thoughts. 

He shakes his head slightly, pushing those ideas from his head - he needs a stronger cage, everything keeps slipping out. Like sand between his fingers. 

“Nothing, let’s go.” Bellamy sends Miller and Raven a grateful smile before leaving. 

Murphy follows orders like a trained soldier, the hood hanging over his face as he stares at the ground. Bellamy waits for the backtalk, the huff of resignation, fucking anything because this is not Murphy. Murphy is a downpour, he could level mountains with a whisper - chaotic and dangerous. He never went quietly and Bellamy loved every second of it. 

This Murphy is quiet, calculating with smarts that Bellamy never knew he possessed. The eye of the hurricane, diligent with a grace as he walks that isn’t natural. 

Bellamy keeps his head straight as they walk, leading him through the winding halls of Arkadia. His eyes unblinking - keeping every thought raging in his mind hidden. Murphy stays close to his side, even moving behind him when they pass someone. 

There’s a second, as Murphy shuffles out of the way and his breath whispers against Bellamy’s neck. It sends shivers over his whole body and he stumbles over air. 

Murphy’s solid hand on his chest is the only thing that stops him from falling. 

The hood obscures a portion of his face but Bellamy can still see the spark that flashes through his eyes. Maybe he’s just projecting or imagining it but he swears that he sees recognition - a slimmer of  _ I know you _ . 

It’s gone, letting the  _ I kind of hate you _ seep back. 

“Keep moving,” Murphy hisses - shifting his body when a guard passes by. 

Bellamy regains his posture, letting a hand come to rest on the small of Murphy’s back as he starts moving again. It takes a few minutes of tension but eventually they make it to their destination: Monty and Jasper’s room. 

The boys are sitting on one bed, heads bowed together as their whispered conversation cuts short - snapping their attention up. Monty stands, mouth open - looking like Miller, and Bellamy’s starting to regret this if everyone was going to react this way. He looks as though he wants to say something but Jasper beats him to it. 

“Holy shit, he’s real. I mean, he’s supposed to be dead, dude.” He ran a hand over his buzzed hair, a habit not yet forgotten. 

Murphy tenses, taking a step back to press himself against the door. His clenched fists hang at his sides - knuckles bone-white under his tight grip. 

“Can - um - can you guys give us some space? Keep an eye out?” Bellamy asks. 

Jasper scoffs. “It’s our room.” 

Monty smacks him. “Come on, let’s go,” he says, gingerly moving past Murphy to get to the door. Jasper mutters something under his breath but follows nonetheless, giving Bellamy a tight smile as he leaves. 

Bellamy makes sure the door closed completely before he awkwardly shuffles further into the room, giving Murphy space. 

“So, the plan is that we wait out here until night and then sneak you out and figure everything out from there,” Bellamy explains. 

Murphy takes a hesitant step into the room, watching Bellamy’s every breath. “Won’t they realise I’m gone?” 

“No, Raven’s making it seem like you escaped. They’ll be searching the forest, not here.” 

Murphy smiles, a small quick action that softens his whole face. 

Bellamy watches him, noting the first clear emotion he’d been able to see. “If you want to know something, just ask.” 

His response is quick. “Then I’ll owe you.” 

“How about this,” Bellamy says. “A question for a question.” 

Murphy thinks on this, weighing his options and those cold eyes sparkle like snow as he comes to a conclusion. “What do you want with me?” 

“Nothing - ” Bellamy shrugs - “just don’t want to see you get hurt again. Do you really not remember me?” 

There’s a pause, then, “No. Who - who are you? How do you know my name?” 

“That’s two,” Bellamy says first, adding, “I’m - I’m Bellamy Blake, I’m a guard here. And you told me your name.” 

Bellamy sighs as he sits on one of the beds - Monty’s he assumes because it’s actually made. He’s silent until Murphy follows suit - resting on the edge of Jasper’s bed. 

“You must remember something.” Bellamy hates the desperation in his voice. “Why else would you trust me?”

“Because I can take you out if this is a trap . You’ve still got another question.” 

“Who do you think you are?” 

Murphy licks his lips, choosing his words carefully. “I’m John Murphy, I’m a soldier in Heda’s army.”

“A soldier? You?” Bellamy laughs - stopping himself when he sees Murphy’s glare. “I’m sorry, I just - can’t imagine you as a fighter.”

“Why do you keep talking like you know me?” 

Bellamy wrings his hands together, eyes downcast and suddenly, he can barely breathe.  _ He doesn’t know you _ . The thought strikes Bellamy like a blade, going straight through his heart and leaving broken, crushed pieces. He doesn’t remember - Murphy had been hurt so bad that he can’t remember - nothing of his life, of Bellamy remained. 

Whatever, whoever, did this makes Bellamy’s blood boil. 

“Murphy, you know me,” he says -  _ begs _ . “What do you know? Like, about your childhood and crap.”

Murphy shoots to his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Look, I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t have to tell you shit. I’d rather take my chances out there.”

He moves for the door and Bellamy doesn’t think, only reacts. He stands, hand grabbing onto Murphy’s wrist - his hold is tight and it makes his heart jump. The boys both stare down - and time slows around them, the world stops spinning as their heartbeats echo in the silence. 

“I’m sorry, no more questions,” Bellamy whispers. “Just stay.”

Murphy’s eyes flicker up to Bellamy’s. He jerks his arm from Bellamy’s hold - as if his brain just caught up, as if he would’ve stayed like that longer. He gives a curt nod as he settles back onto the bed, moving so his back rested against the wall. 

“This is a stupid plan,” Murphy says after a few minutes of silence. His eyes continue bouncing around the room, from Bellamy to the door to the ground and back. “If you want me to escape, then let me go now. I can fight my way out.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though,” Bellamy answers, finding the wall in front of him is easier to look at than Murphy. “You’re not guilty of anything.” 

Murphy scoffs. “Look, I get that I look like some dead friend of yours but I’m not him.” 

_ What’s wrong with him?  _ The thought sticks in Bellamy’s mind in a loop, leaving him tired as time passes slowly. 

“So you’re saying you have no memory of me? Of this place?” Bellamy asks. 

“Should I?” 

“If you don’t remember anything then how did you know to use the keycard to open the door?”

“I noticed all the guards have one, so I put two and two together.”

“Oh, so you’re just that smart,” Bellamy says. 

“You’re just mad that you’re not.”

Bellamy snorts, rolling his eyes. It seems impossible - how Murphy is constantly shifting from emotionless apparent-grounder back to the full of life kid he remembers so fondly.

Murphy takes a deep breath. “I’m - I’m gonna ask one more question. Whoever you think I am, why am I so important? You’re risking a lot for me.” 

_ Why am I so important?  _ Because those days before the hanging were so important - keeping his head clear when the survival of all those kids hung in the balance. 

_ Why am I so important?  _ Because he can’t see water or the sky without seeing those deep eyes - holding the weight of a lost life. 

_ Why am I so important?  _ Because - because Bellamy is starting to realise the intensity of everything he had tried so hard to forget. 

“You - you were my friend, my - uh - my right hand man since the beginning. I don’t know why, though - never quite figured that out but you listened to me, kinda,” he explains, rubbing at the back of his neck. Saying all this - airing out his thoughts is, well, not what he’s used to. 

“What happened to all that?” 

There’s a flicker of unreadable emotion behind Murphy’s eyes that catch Bellamy’s attention and a sick, traitorous voice slithers into his mind. 

“You don’t really care, do you?” Bellamy asks, already knowing the answer. “You just want information to use against me.” 

Murphy hums. “Maybe you are smart.” He shrugs. “Can you blame me? Your people did just take me captive.”

“You  _ were  _ spying on us.”

“Because you’re on  _ our  _ land.”

“ _ You are not a grounder _ ,” Bellamy hisses. 

Murphy glares, eyes freezing colder than before and his whole body goes rigid. A breath is caught in his chest and he watches Bellamy with sincere hurt. 

Bellamy’s heart is beating faster with every passing second, his tongue burning as the words are etched onto it. He averts his gaze, the ever present guilt rising and suffocating him. He could choke on it - right then, a mock noose squeezing the air from his lungs. 

“What’s your endgame here,  _ Bellamy _ ? We run off into the sunset together? I don’t know you and you  _ don’t  _ know me - so stop saying you do,” Murphy yells. 

Bellamy opens his mouth to speak, then closes it - repeating this until he can find the right words that don’t make him sound pathetic. “All I’m trying to do is protect you. The people here -  _ your _ \- ” Bellamy sighs - “they’re afraid of grounders and fear makes people do stupid things. My  _ endgame  _ is that you’re safe because I don’t want to see you get hurt again.” 

Murphy regards Bellamy - blue eyes curious and unsure. But Bellamy’s words strike a chord and his voice is so quiet, like he’s afraid. “Get me home to Polis and no one will ever know about this. There’ll be no repercussions from my side.” 

“Deal.”

-

As night settles over Arkadia, Bellamy and Murphy - wrapped in Bellamy’s clothing - tiptoed from Monty and Jasper’s room. Through the empty halls, avoiding the known tracks the guards follow, they ease past the sleeping citizens. 

It’s at the change over of shifts - a new set of personal leaving to scour the forest for Murphy - that they run. There’s a small hole in the fence, one made by Octavia and Lincoln waiting just at the tree line, that they crawl through. Clarke joins them after a few minutes - unable to resist coming after she heard Bellamy explain his plan to his sister. Everything happened so fast that he didn’t quite register agreeing. 

Bellamy looks to his small group, Murphy hanging at his side as he eyes the others. 

“Let’s go,” he says, letting Lincoln lead the march. 

_ Get me home _ , Murphy had said. Bellamy hadn’t lied, not completely, he’ll  _ bring _ Murphy home - back to Arkadia, with the remains of the hundred. Back with Skaikru, with Bellamy, where he belongs. Whatever is going on in Murphy’s head, Bellamy is sure he can break through, remind the boy of his past, of what they had. 

Bellamy has been given another chance, he can right the wrong he regrets the most - and there’s nothing, not even Murphy and his apparent amnesia, that can stop him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. find a way or make one

The ache in his legs burn, exhaustion and hunger stalk him - creeping closer and closer as time slowly drips past. The forest stretches further as the morning raced by only to leave the afternoon sun to drag. Though Bellamy was just asking for this - his improvised plans to pull through - now, he wishes that everything would just stop. 

His mind is desperate for a break - a real break that didn’t involve any risk of wasted time - needing a moment to process things. 

As much as it hurts him, Bellamy’s beginning to believe that Murphy truly doesn’t remember. Not even a spark of recognition flared when he saw Clarke and Octavia, like they’re merely strangers he thinks them to be. 

Bellamy walks behind Murphy and Clarke, watching her hesitation as she offers him a canteen of water. Either Murphy doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, accepting it gladly. It seems impossible that not even a trace of a memory lingers - but if Bellamy knows anything about him, then he knows that Murphy would never restrain himself to this degree. Not around the people that lead to his hanging and his banishment. 

Bellamy wonders if Clarke feels the same guilt and shame as he does - almost afraid when he can’t answer that thought. 

Octavia bumps her shoulder against his, drawing his attention. “Do you think it’s still him?” she asks. 

Bellamy admits quietly, “No. At least, not who we knew.”

“Good. He was a dick, I wouldn’t be doing this if he was still the same person.” She smiles, though he can’t return it. 

Bellamy can’t bring himself to even pretend to agree with her. It’s his best kept secret, one he can’t -  _ doesn’t want _ to find the words to describe. But Murphy is not Murphy. His poison coated tongue could whisper sweet nothings if given the chance. It was him that encouraged Bellamy in his few moments of fear, when he thought surrendering to the grounders was his best option. 

Murphy has never been the memory that’s frozen in everyone’s mind, not truly. Bellamy wants to keep that version of this boy to himself. 

“Even if he was,” he says, tongue working too fast for his mind to stop it, “I - I’d still do this for him. He hasn’t done anything wrong, it’s not right that we were prepared to torture him.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do.”

Octavia huffs. “Then you’re lucky no one’s mentioned Charlotte to the adults or the two kids he killed before that.”

Bellamy swallows his anger, clenching his fists. “Charlotte wasn’t his fault - ” his voice trembles over her name - “And who here can say they don’t have blood on their hands?” 

Octavia rolls her eyes in response. “Still, we’re all in deep shit if they find out we broke out a prisoner,” she says. 

“They won’t. The others have our backs. As far as the adults are aware, we’ve gone on a hunting trip that was never properly approved.” 

A bird rustles in the tree above them, Octavia's hand instinctively jerks for her sword - her eyes narrowing as the animal flies away. There's a sharp glare in her now, the once bright girl is being toned into a warrior and Bellamy can see it clearly. But it’s still her, he knows this, can feel it. 

“I still don’t get it,” she says as she relaxes. “Why do all this for him? He’s nothing special.” 

Bellamy has been asking himself that, he’s only been following his instincts without really thinking about what they mean. It can’t just be guilt that’s guiding him. He remembers how he felt in the beginning - how this flutter in his chest would spread whenever he saw that annoying, frustrating, beautiful kid. 

“You - you know how you’ll do anything for Lincoln?” Bellamy says, the realisation slapping him across the face, like cold water waking him up from a deep sleep. It was once a whisper in the back of his mind, only saying it makes it feel real. 

“Yeah, well, that’s cause I love him. Oh - _oh_, Bell.” 

“At least I - I think I could have. If we had more time,” he says. 

He can’t bring himself to meet her gaze, simultaneously feeling a weight being lifted from his shoulders and feeling as those gravity has increased tenfold - dragging him down. A lump forms in the back of his throat. 

“Bellamy, I - god damn it, okay, guess we really have to do this, huh?” Octavia says. “Any ideas about how to get him to remember?” 

He shrugs, this is uncharted territory - and he’s so out of his depth that he’s sure that he’ll drown before figuring out a plan. 

“Just hope I can remind him. It’s all I can do.” 

-

It’s not until the sun had set long ago - the golden shadow that turned leaves to honey is gone and replaced with hungry shadows - that they make camp. Octavia makes the fire, the flames seeming to leap from her hands as Lincoln and Bellamy watch on proudly. She keeps it small, bandits are rich in this area and they can’t risk it - not when they’re so close to Polis

Clarke passes out fruit she’d collected from the kitchens before she left. Bellamy’s starting to regret not agreeing to stop earlier, to give them time to hunt. Now that dawn is closer than dusk, it would be impossible. 

He sits down across from Murphy, needing to see his face, the way the fire highlights all his best features - his sharp nose, his lively eyes. But again and again, his attention is drawn to those scars running through his pale skin. 

“So, about - ” Bellamy gestures to his own eye - “that.”

“Casual, as always.” Murphy winks with his scarred eye. “Happened when I was a kid - an animal attack.” 

“You remember it?” Clarke asks as she sits next to Bellamy. The small fire is enough to illuminate the intrigue in her eyes. 

Murphy shrugs. “As much as you remember your early childhood. Why are you all so much more adept at moving around the forest than your people’s guards? We got by way too easy.” 

Lincoln snaps before Bellamy can speak. “Don’t answer that, he doesn’t get to ask questions.” 

Bellamy raises a hand. “It’s okay, it’s kinda our thing - ” Murphy shoots him a look, the fire and amusement dancing in his eyes - “a question for a question.” 

Octavia takes Lincoln’s hand before he can respond again, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Her attention bounces from him to her brother - she nods to Bellamy. 

He gives her a grateful smile. “Minus Lincoln, we’ve been here longer than most of our people. And we didn’t have the same… technologies so we had to improvise a lot,” Bellamy explains. 

“Understatement,” Octavia mutters. “Okay, so Murphy, I heard you took down like a dozen guards. Who trained you?” 

“Omas, he was my village leader,” Murphy says, shifting so that his knees came to his chest. “Before I was sent to Polis.” 

Lincoln hisses something in  Trigedasleng  \- Octavia scoffs, rolling her eyes at him and Murphy merely smiles. 

“Coming from a traitor,” he shoots back. 

Bellamy and Clarke look to O, silently asking for clearance. 

She looks annoyed as she answers, “Lincoln said Murphy makes a shitty grounder.”

“You reveal too much,” Lincoln says, glaring at Murphy. “Your enemy takes you prisoner and you talk about your childhood?” 

“Linc - ” Bellamy starts. 

“Oh no,” Murphy says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know how I got a scar, now you know all my secrets.” 

Bellamy can’t repress his snicker - Lincoln sends a glare his way. 

“Okay, look, we aren’t enemies and he isn’t a prisoner,” Bellamy mediates. 

“What he said.” Murphy sneaks him a grin - flashing a dazzling smile that sends Bellamy’s heart racing too fast. 

“We should keep moving,” Clarke interjects before the conversation can continue. “We can get to Polis before morning and be home before anyone gets too suspicious.”

“Or leave Murphy here,” Octavia says with a shrug. “We’ll get home quicker and no one will see us near Polis.” 

Murphy moves so subtly that Bellamy isn’t sure he caught it but he thinks he sees Murphy clench his fists, turning his gaze downcast - like he’s disappointed. He wants to stay with them for longer and maybe Bellamy is projecting now but it doesn’t stop himself from speaking. 

“No, we can’t.” All eyes turn to him, confused and wary. “I mean - uh - you - you’ve seen some of our guards. If they managed to catch him, then he’s got no chance out here.”

To his surprise, Octavia nods along. “He’s right, about the first part - ” she turns to Lincoln - “they know he was meant to be spying on us. And if he doesn’t get back then they’ll retaliate.” 

Lincoln scoffs, about to disagree but decides against it. It seems to hurt him when he says, “Fine.” 

There’s a piece of ice melting in Murphy’s eyes when he brings them to meet Bellamy’s - hope flashing behind that steel wall. He hides it quickly but it’s enough for Bellamy. 

He’s the first to stand, stepping around the fire to offer his hand to Murphy. This time, there’s no hesitation, their hands fitting together like they were made for it. Their hands linger together a heartbeat longer than they should - Murphy’s fingers cover that disgusting weight that’s taken over Bellamy’s hand. 

Octavia scrounges together material for two torches, setting them ablaze in the fire before Lincoln pats it out. She passes one to Clarke who leads them, the light fading into the darkness as Bellamy slows his pace - giving him and Murphy space. 

“This must be a lot for you,” Bellamy says. 

“Yeah, it’s been a weird few days.” Murphy smiles and it lights up his whole face - making his blue eyes shine. “That chick - ” he gestures ahead of them to Clarke - “what’s her deal? She - she’s got this weird vibe to her, especially just when you didn’t all immediately follow her.”

Bellamy can only laugh, hoping that Clarke can’t hear them. It’s not that he thinks Murphy’s wrong - far from it - but it sounds strange to hear it out loud. Most people, especially the delinquents, refrain from criticising her - mostly in respect for all she’s done.

“She’s used to being in charge,” he answers. “I think she expects to always be the leader.”

“Ah, one of those people. Why bring her then?” 

“She’s the closest thing to a doctor I could find. For - uh -”

“The whole I’m your dead friend’s lookalike thing?” Murphy finishes. 

It’s almost funny, how easily and frequently Bellamy’s heart is broken - how quickly his hopes are raised. He refuses to accept that Murphy is gone. They fit together too smoothly to be strangers. Bellamy forces him to ignore the thought of  _ what’s going to happen when we reach Polis. _

“The whole you don’t remember me thing.”

Murphy huffs, his jaw clenching as the cold, empty look returns to his eyes. “Agree to disagree,” he says quietly. 

Bellamy knows to shut his mouth, kicking himself for pushing it too far. The forest grows darker - a thick weight pushing on his shoulders as he walks. He should’ve recognised the delicate balance - where that line laid. But instead, he ran right past it, too eager for this strange sense of nostalgia. 

He almost trips over himself when Murphy speaks again. 

“Tell me the truth. Why am I so important to you?”

Bellamy can’t breathe - Murphy’s dazzling icy eyes freeze him. 

“You’re - ” Bellamy stops himself - “ _ my _ Murphy, he was a good guy, underneath all the arrogance and anger. He - he deserves to be here, to see how far we’ve come. And if there’s -  _ any  _ chance you’re him, I have to try. I have to get him back. I owe him.” 

Bellamy hates that he’s talking like this just to appease Murphy - he’s saying Murphy isn’t himself. But he is, he’s right in front of him. Murphy’s looking at Bellamy with eyes so blue he could drown - giving him a tight smile, one filled with understanding. 

“I know how it feels to lose people,” Murphy says quietly. “I’m sorry. I hope you find him, wherever he is.” 

It’s a start, Bellamy thinks. He can’t ask for much right now - he’s seeing pieces of this life that Murphy believes he has, and Bellamy knows it will take more than a few conversations to dismantle it. He can’t find the right words for Murphy so he stays quiet - and in the tense silence between them, his breath seems to echo through the forest. 

Hours of deadly quiet walking pass and the sun is beginning to peek over the horizon, casting it’s warm shine over the group - taking the night’s event away. Murphy holds himself a little lighter now, tension leaving his muscles as a gust of wind passes. 

“You know, if you want to, I could train you,” Murphy says - glancing at Bellamy through the corner of his eye before turning away again, like he’s embarrassed. “You’ve got the making of a good warrior.”

“You say that like you are one.” Bellamy’s tease works and Murphy smiles again, forgetting their previous conversation. “But I guess I’ll take the offer.”

“Good. It’ll be a waste of potential.”

“How long did it take for you to become this incredible, talented fighter?” Bellamy can keep a straight face during his sentence, struggling to keep himself from laughing. 

Murphy shoves Bellamy - not softly but not hard enough for him to fall. He sighs before answering. “Not entirely sure,” he admits with a shrug. “As long as I can remember.”

Which can’t be long, he thinks to himself. “Not gonna ask a question?”

“Nah, think I’ll save it but go ahead."

“Okay then, seriously, if you’re so well trained, how did you manage to get caught?” Bellamy asks. 

Murphy doesn’t look at him, his gaze travelling around the forest. And Bellamy has the sudden realisation that Murphy’s footsteps are completely silent, not even a leaf or twig crunch under his feet. 

“If you’re just gonna insult my skills then I’d continue alone.” 

Bellamy snorts. “Skills? Is that what you call it?” 

Murphy breathes out a laugh, rolling his eyes. Their shoulders bump together as they walk, knuckles brushing against each other. Neither acknowledge it. 

“Okay, well,” Murphy starts. “Who’s saying it was an accident? Hm?”

“Wow, you really are a shitty grounder. You go around telling all the boys your secret plans?” 

“Only the pretty ones.” Murphy winks, laughing as Bellamy’s cheeks grow warm. “Anyway, figured it couldn’t hurt, given what I’m about to do next.” 

“Murphy? What - ”

“Sorry, Bellamy. But Lincoln’s right, we’re enemies,” he says, his whole demeanor changing from the lighthearted banter. 

Bellamy’s heart drops, sharp fear coursing through him as he struggles to form a sentence. He doesn’t believe that this is real - until Murphy lets out a high pitched whistle. And from the trees, from the bushes, from the _damn_ _dirt_ grounders appear - swords and bows in hand as they form a circle around the group. 

Octavia and Lincoln reach for their weapons but there’s no point. They can’t win this fight. 

Murphy walks to the outer edge of the ambush, shrugging when he turns to face Bellamy. There’s no emotion in his eyes, not even a smirk on his lips - pure emptiness as he says, “Heda would like to see you.” 

  
  



	4. fragile glass for a heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one sitting, it's short as hell, and it's barely edited but it's here. 
> 
> Thanks for everyone's patience and support lmao :)

Guilt is a familiar feeling to Bellamy, practically a second skin at this point. He knows it better than he knows himself but he’s never quite reached the bottom of the self-loathing pool -- he thought it was endless. 

He thought a lot of things would be endless. 

But here, sitting in a prison cell in the heart of Polis, Bellamy surprises himself and finds that he’s sunk to rock bottom and now gets to drown under all his mistakes. Not only has he condemned himself and his friends, but he’s lost any hope of reaching Murphy. 

If there was any chance of getting through to him in the first place, that is. Bellamy never stopped to think about it, all it took was one look from those blue eyes and he fell. Harder than he’s ever fallen before. 

He leans against the dirt wall of the cell, letting his head lean back with more force than necessary. He hasn’t managed to make eye contact with anyone for the past few hours, the weight of their judgement suffocating him. 

Breaking the silence, Octavia asks, “What now?” from where she leans against Lincoln. She tries meeting Bellamy’s gaze but he refuses. 

He’s killed his little sister -- his only job failed. 

“Great talk, guys,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

“Well, what can we do?” Clarke snaps. She’s been pacing the pitiful length of their cell, her mind racing. “We’re prisoners.”

“Ask the one that trusted the man that told us to burn, he should have all the answers.” Lincoln’s eyes burn into Bellamy, but his tone is tired, lacking the bite that would make Bell flinch. 

Still, Octavia elbows him sharply in the ribs, doing her best to play mediator. Bellamy won’t bother defending himself, there’s nothing to defend. 

Murphy had escorted them all the way to Polis, walking by Bellamy’s side as he held onto the rope binding his wrists together. Marching down the steep stairs to the cells, Murphy’s fingers would brush against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine every time. 

He’s been trying to remember that feeling, to have something to hold onto in the hours they’ve been sitting here -- pretending he didn’t take offence to the fact that Murphy left them, left him without so much as a damn goodbye. 

“No one forced you to come,” Clarke retorts. She looks over to Bellamy, as if searching for approval at the reminder that Bell is to fault for everyone being here. “Either we can keep bickering or we can figure out a plan.”

“We’re helpless,” Bellamy mutters, his voice hoarse from the hours of silence. He clears his throat, adding, “We’re weaponless, we’re outnumbered. And no one at home will realise anything’s wrong for another day or two.” 

“Oh, so we’re supposed to sit around until they kill us?” Octavia asks sarcastically. 

Three mouths open to shoot back a response but another voice interrupts them. A grounder appearing outside the cell says, “Bellamy Blake, Heda will see you now.”

Hesitantly, he gets to his feet. “Why?”

The grounder merely opens the door, his sword hanging at his side still enough of a threat. “Now.” His voice leaves no room for argument. 

Choosing to only give Octavia a reassuring glance -- or an attempt at one -- Bellamy joins the grounder. The sword pokes into the small of his back, pushing him forward through the long hall, his footsteps and heartbeat echoing throughout it. 

He’s guided up the staircase Murphy had walked them down. It seems much more lonely now, the cold, damp walls feel like they could collapse on top of him. That death would be much more welcomed than what he’s sure will come. 

They pass by more grounders on guard, who give him no more than a sneer. Finally, he’s brought to a large pair of doors, the guards posted outside open them simultaneously. Bellamy takes cautious steps into the grand room beyond -- only realising he was hoping to see Murphy when disappointment strikes him. 

Instead, he’s met with a throne made from long branches and daggers, sitting upon it is a girl -- no older than Bellamy himself but an atmosphere of power surrounds her. She’s cladded in leather armor, dark makeup circles her eyes, and she watches him with an amused demeanor. 

Bellamy walks the long carpet leading to her, stopping when he’s pushed to his knees. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping an insult. 

If it weren’t for Octavia being without his protection, he would’ve lost it long ago. 

“So, we’re just gonna stand around all day?” he dares to joke, feeling stares sharp enough to kill.

The girl, who must be Heda, crosses her legs, fiddling with a dagger between her hands as if that’s enough to scare him. “Murphy was right,” she says, “you do have quite the mouth.”

Bellamy’s cheeks flush slightly. “Where is he?”

He counts eight guards situated around the room, all armed to the teeth, and decides against any ideas that he could fight his way out of this. 

“You’re in no position to ask questions.” Her blue eyes -- sharper, colder, harder than Murphy’s -- seem to stare into his very soul. “Why is he your main concern here?”

“He’s my friend. Was.”

“Was?” she repeats, a hint of mockery in her voice. 

“Whatever you did to him seems to be working.”

Heda grins, a predator close to pouncing. “I didn’t touch him. He came to me like that, a broken little Skaikru boy needing a purpose.” 

“What kind of sick game is this? Why not kill him.”

Heda uncrosses her legs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her thighs, pointing at him with the blade. “That old man, Omas, is the one to blame. I simply saw potential. He had all the right pieces, spite, anger, he was lost. Cast aside by his own people.”

Bellamy doesn’t give her the satisfaction of flinching at the jab, instead he takes her in, assessing her threat level. Her youth takes little away from the arrogance she carries herself with, like she’s the strongest, deadliest piece of weaponry in the room. 

He forces himself to take a controlled breath. “Sending your secret spy to the people he grew up with doesn’t like a great plan, if you ask me.” 

Heda shrugs. “A calculated risk. It brought you to me, didn’t it?” 

“Just hurry up and kill me.”

“I wish, but not yet, and it won’t be me. You’ve been claimed.” 

Before Bellamy can choke out a response, Heda gestures to the guard that brought him here and he pulls Bellamy to his feet. He didn’t need to be shoved so roughly to get the idea but starts walking anyway -- except, rather than being led back to the cells, the sword at his back directs him the opposite way. 

  
Doors and covered windows pass by in the dozens and the hallways twist and turns so many times Bellamy is completely disoriented. A deliberate act, he’s sure. 

Eventually, he’s stopped outside a rather inconspicuous door. 

“What is this?” he asks the grounder and only gets a gesture with the sword in response. 

He swings the door open and almost gasps at what he sees. 

Murphy stands facing a grand window, hands neatly behind his back. Bellamy takes a few cautious but more than willing steps into the room, hearing the door slam behind him. He could stand here forever. The sunlight drapes over Murphy’s body, his whole body shining with a heavenly glow. 

Over his shoulder, Murphy says, “I’m sorry about all the theartrics. Did Lexa give you shit? I told her not to.”

“Lexa?” Bellamy asks, trying to focus on anything other than Murphy’s chiseled body. 

“Heda. She - she can be a bit much, but it’s mostly an act, don’t worry.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. Everything’s too confusing right now, even for him. He was ready to die the moment Murphy had betrayed him, but now here he stands, in what can only be Murphy’s room, and being told not to worry about the warrior leader of the grounders. 

Right. Of course. He should be able to take this into stride a lot more effortlessly. 

“Are - are you that put a… claim on me? Bellamy asks. 

Murphy laughs and it eases the tension in Bellamy’s gut without his consent. “Yeah, um, sorry about that but it was all I could think of. I, uh, I didn’t want you to die without getting to talk to you again.”

“What do you mean?”

Murphy takes a step back from the window, turning his face so it’s just peeking over his shoulder. The golden shine makes his eyes sparkle, warming them -- melting that hard layer of frost. “You ask a lot of questions,” he teases. 

“I think I’m entitled to them.”  
“Of course, ask away then.”

“You trusted me to get you here --” the words leave his tongue before he can think about them, about how pathetic they make him sound -- “but betrayed me the moment you could. Why?”

_Me_, not us, not the group. _Me_. 

Murphy hesitates on his answer. He moves through the room, shrugging off his long coat and throws it over the back of a chair before he sits down. He’s before a mirror at vanity, letting Bellamy see every inch of his blank, controlled expression. 

“Because we’re enemies, Bellamy,” he responds monotone. “I’m a grounder, you’re Skaikru.” 

“I thought we were more than that.” His honesty surprises them both.

Something flashes over Murphy’s eyes but he reigns it in quickly. “Like what?”

“Friends,” he says, trying not to choke on the words. “There has to be a reason you came this far with me.”

Murphy stands, crossing the room in a few large strides -- all the while, his gaze dances over Bellamy’s body. “You intrigue me.”

Bellamy swallows, his mouth turns dry. “I - I’m - I’m not that interesting.”

A smile flickers across Murphy’s face, his eyes never wavering as they stare deep into Bellamy’s. 

“Funny.” Murphy’s breath is on his skin now, settling him ablaze. “Uninteresting people don’t need to say that.”

“Really, I - I’m not --”

“What do you have to hide?” Murphy whispers, his hands come to rest on Bellamy’s waist like they belong there, moulding to the curve of his body naturally. “Maybe -- maybe it’s this force I feel, dragging me to you.” His lips pass over his rosy cheek, climbing to his ear. “Do you feel it, too?”

Murphy pulls back just an inch, looking Bellamy dead in the eyes. Their lips hover just beyond each other. Bellamy’s heart pounds in his chest, his skin tingling -- and it could be so easy. To just lean forward. 

“We could’ve been something,” Bellamy says just as quiet. “Way back then.”  
“Hmm? And now? What are we?”

His smile turns too far into a smirk, eyes flashing with a wave of smugness that thrusts Bellamy back into realty. 

This is a game to him, that’s not his Murphy. He’s being toyed with, taken advantage of. 

It takes all his will power to step back, leaving Murphy’s hold -- though the weight of his hands will forever remain. 

“Enemies. We’re enemies, like you said,” Bellamy struggles to get out. “We’re nothing more as long as I’m here.” 

Murphy practically throws himself back, running a hand through his hair as he gives a bitter smile, a dry chuckle. “Right, yeah, you’re right. Stupid me for believing in you -- as if there’s anything left in me.”

A cruel cousin of guilt, regret, slaps Bellamy across the face. 

“You believe me?” 

Murphy’s still in there? 

He folds his arms over his chest in a defensive manner, averting his gaze like he hadn’t meant to say that. “I don’t know. I don’t think you could lie to me even if you wanted, I just…”

Bellamy can barely breathe, lost between being overcome with relief and happiness, and being crushed under the pain that’s swallowing Murphy. Neither seem to believe this is really happening. 

“Just what?” Bellamy asks, trying to coax something -- _anything_ \-- out of him. 

“Sometimes I don’t think I’m who they say I am,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper in case someone hears him. 

Bellamy stalks forward. “Try again,” he says -- _begs_. “We can try again and again and again until something works, _please_.”

Murphy shakes his head frantically, moving away from Bellamy. “No, no, no, I can’t - there - there’s nothing. I can’t believe you actually started to convince me I’m some dead friend of yours.”

A lump forms in Bellamy’s throat, tears pickling as they threaten to fall. He hasn’t gotten this far just for it to end like this. 

“Please Murphy. Let me try, let me fix this.”

Murphy flinches away, his body trembling violently. He takes a breath, letting his eyes slip closed -- and when they open, that freezing ice has returned, chilling the entire room, feeling like a punch to the gut. 

“There’s nothing to fix,” Murphy says, emotionless. “My claim on you means I’ll be the one to execute you. Enjoy tonight with your friends.”

-

“And what? You just left?”

“Didn’t exactly have a choice, O.” 

His retelling of his visit did leave out certain details -- though the look Octavia is giving him makes him think she knows -- but it’s left them all in the same state of frustrations. He was so close to breaking through to Murphy. 

But it was all for nothing. 

Clarke is still pacing before the door and Bellamy wonders if she ever stopped when he left. Her lips move absentmindedly as she’s deep in thought. Unless it’s a miracle plan to get them out, Bellamy doesn’t care. 

“Okay, what do we do now? We’re not seriously gonna wait for Murphy to kill us?” Octavia asks. 

“Unless you have a plan…” Lincoln trails off, narrowing his eyes as Clarke stops dead in her tracks, her scuffling feet earn the attention of the entire cell. 

“You got something, Griffin?” Octavia stands to be face to face with her, prompting the boys to follow suit. 

“I think Murphy’s repressing his memories.”

Wiping the dust from his legs, Bellamy says, “Want to elaborate?”

Clarke takes a moment to fully collect her thoughts. “Well, I was thinking and if Murphy really doesn’t know who we are then that would suggest amnesia, right? --” everyone nods to answer her rhetorical question -- “But for his whole life to just be _gone_, he’d had significant brain damage, and there’s no way he could be doing what he’s doing with that kind of injury.” 

“So?” Bellamy prompts. 

“So, I think that after we banished him --” Bellamy notes that she doesn’t even stumble over that word -- “something incredibly traumatic happened to him and his brain just couldn’t cope so it blocked everything away.” 

“But wouldn’t he just forget the trauma, not his entire life?” Lincoln asks. 

“Yes, but with that and being an exile with nowhere to go could have induced a kind of nervous break.”

Bellamy blinks, trying to comprehend everything. “If he was taken in by a grounder village, he probably just made some stuff up so he could pretend he’s someone he’s not.”

“Exactly,” Clarke says. 

“Are his memories gone or just locked away?” Octavia glances to her brother as she speaks, everyone coming to the same conclusion once Clarke continues. 

“Locked away, probably. We should be able get them back.” 

“Bell,” his sister says softly, “you’re the only one who can do it.” 

“This is insane,” he protests weakly. “But I’ll do it.”


End file.
